


Can Wounded Birds Fly Anew, or Must Their Pasts Forever Drag Them Down?

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [15]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How is it different, then, someone doing that to you versus someone doing it to me?”</p><p>Loki shrugs.  “It just is.  I deserve it; you don’t.”</p><p>Dr. Riley smiles.  “As you and I are really just becoming acquainted,” she says, “I’m not sure you’re in the best position to know whether or not you and I are equally deserving.”</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>If I Was Still in Hell, Would the Birds Be Singing?</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1543871/chapters/3269639">Memories</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dr. Riley gets where Loki is coming from.

"I spoke with Dr. Potts last night, and she suggested we ought to talk through the _whole business in the bathroom_ in a little more detail," Dr. Riley says, barely half a minute after Loki's gotten himself situated. It’s only taken a couple of days for him to recognize that she's not big on small talk for small talk’s sake.

It’s one of a growing list of things he’s finding he likes about her.

Still. He squints at her, looking at her kind of sideways. "How so?"

Dr. Riley arches an eyebrow slightly. When she answers, though, her tone is what he at least thinks is her _normal_. "Dr. Potts believes, after talking it over with you and Thor, that what happened might have been harassment - or even assault - rather than a simple fight."

Loki snorts. "Seriously? That’s what she told you?” It’s not like he should be surprised - Ginny’d said as much to him and his brother, after all - but he still can’t quite _believe_ it somehow. “I got pissed off at- Rick, right?" – Loki’s not a big socializer; it invariably takes him a while to learn the names of the other clients, especially the ones he doesn't like and consequently avoids. "I kneed him in the nuts. He punched me. I know Ginny thinks it wasn't my fault," he continues, shrugging, "and I suppose that part is indeed debatable, but either way I don't see what the big deal is."

By the time he stops talking she's eyeing him speculatively, chewing on one side of her lip. "What was going on before you kneed the guy?"

Loki rolls his eyes, then frowns. "Right. Like Ginny didn't tell you..."

"Actually,” she corrects him, “I told Dr. Potts I wanted to talk to you before she gave me any detail. I can always follow up with her later if I find myself needing to."

He's not quite sure what to think about that, actually.

It's not often that someone values his opinion over those of the people around him. Even though he's, statistically speaking, more likely to be right than they are. "He crowded me up against the sinks and tried to unfasten my pants," he tells her. "So I kneed him." He shrugs, still feeling a little embarrassed about fighting like a girl. "Normally I push people away or hit them or whatever - um, wait," he corrects, laughing at himself, " _normally_ I try to stay away from trouble to start with - but I'm not 100%." He holds up his casted arm. "If I did any pushing or hitting just now, my orthopedist would kill me."

Dr. Riley doesn't laugh with him. "What are you feeling right now," she asks, watching him closely.

_Good question_. "I don't know," he tells her. "Stupid?"

"How so?"

He shakes head ruefully. "The second I saw him come in I should have just left the bathroom. Fuck washing my hands. I know better."

"Have you had difficulty with him before?"

Loki sighs. "I know he doesn't like me. He called me a fag a while back, but whatever. _Sticks and stones_ and all that."

Dr. Riley folds her hands. She's wearing a blocky silver ring engraved with symbols; he focuses on them, rather than her face. It's easier somehow. "You're right," she tells him. "We do all have to pick our battles. But I wouldn't think it naturally followed that someone who’d called me names might try to assault me."

Loki forgets himself and looks back up. "He didn't-," he starts. She holds up a finger, though, and he pauses.

"Hold that thought for a moment,” she coaches. “If I told you someone had caught me in the bathroom, blocked my exit, pinned me against the sinks, and tried to get into my pants without my permission, what would you call i?"

“I would-.” He stops. It’s a trap. “That’s different.”

“How so,” Dr. Riley asks again. He doesn’t yet know her well enough to _really_ read the look on her face.

“I was a hooker,” Loki explains. “The guy- _Rick_ … I’m pretty sure it’s Rick, knows that, from some things that came up in group.” He bares his teeth at her. Everyone is always so slow to catch on to this particular line of reasoning, to the point that he sometimes feels like he will still be explaining it in the distant future to the staff in the nursing home (he’ll probably never live long enough to see). “It’s public knowledge, at least to my group.”

Unlike most people, even in this business, she doesn’t flinch. “Were you working the other day, in the bathroom?”

“ _Was_ ,” he repeats. “ _Was_ a hooker. Thor would fucking take my head clean off if I was still turning tricks now.”

“So,” she says, “you _weren’t_ working the other day, the day Rick tried to touch you. In the bathroom.”

“No,” Loki agrees. “I haven’t worked since Thor-“ – there’s no point in being an asshole about it, especially without his brother here to rankle – “since he picked me up on the streets and took me home. It’s been a long time now,” he clarifies, in case Dr. Riley hasn’t yet had the chance to sit down and piece together his entire complex, sordid chronology.

“How is it different, then, Rick doing that to you versus someone doing it to me?”

Loki shrugs. “It just is. I deserve it; you don’t.”

She smiles, and he’s a little startled to realize it’s a smile he’s worn all too often himself. Without meaning to he cringes. “As you and I are really just becoming acquainted,” she says, “I’m not sure you’re in the best position to know whether or not you and I are equally deserving.”

It’s his turn to cock an eyebrow. “Don’t take this wrong, but I find it hard to believe _you_ were a hooker.”

“And I wasn’t,” she says, “not exactly. “Not as an adult, I mean, the way you were. But I ran away from home when I was thirteen and lived on the streets for a couple of years. And I’m a recovering addict myself, almost 18 years clean. I’m lucky; I got out, and my records are sealed because I was a juvie.” She looks him straight in the eye, like she’s daring him to look away. “Does that change your opinion of my worth?”

She actually has managed to shock him, which isn’t easy, and Loki’s pretty sure it showed on his face at least briefly. “Um, no. I’m actually impressed,” he says. He is. She’s managed to climb so far up out of the fucking hole that she’s all the way up in the mountains now.

“Please think on this for me, then,” she requests. “One of the hardest things I’ve had to do this week – this _month_ , even – was to refrain from saying _trust me, you shouldn’t be_ just now. Know what I mean?”

_Oh._ Loki nods. “Mm.” He feels a little dizzy just thinking about how someone- someone _so like him_ has not just survived but become so successful.

Dr. Riley makes a tiny apologetic gesture. “Look, I know we’re here about you and not about me. I just thought it might help for you to know where I’m coming from.”

It does. He smiles, tentatively but sincerely. “It does, actually,” he tells her.

Dr. Riley nods her thanks. “Good. Okay, I realize it’s going to take some time before what I’m about to say feels real and right to you, but hear me out: What happened in the bathroom was assault. You were assaulted. That’s not okay, and it’s not something you _had coming_ ; you don’t owe anyone the debt of being his or her whipping boy.”

She’s right about how it _doesn’t_ feel, for certain. “That- it just isn’t _true_ to me,” he tells her. “Sorry.”

“No apology needed,” she assures him. “Give it time. You’ll get there.”

Loki’s not even close to sure he believes her. He shrugs. “I’ll try?”

“ _We’ll_ try,” she corrects him, gently. “You’re not in this alone. Not anymore.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Sif do a little off-the-beaten-path exploring.

Loki smiles happily at Sif. "This is _so_ pretty," he tells her, looking up at the waterfall just ahead. It's not huge, certainly, but she's right; the secluded setting, the water cascading over timeworn rocks, is perfect. "How did you find it?" He stretches forward to touch a rock outcropping just within reach of the small overlook on which they're standing.

"Careful," she admonishes. "If you get hurt on my watch Thor will never let you out of his sight again." They share a laugh, although - because? - she's not wrong about _that_ either, any more than she was about this beautiful place. "I was making the rounds at one of our facilities. I stopped to chat with one of residents and her husband. They've lived in this city all their lives and been married _seventy years;_ isn't that amazing?

“And," Sif goes on as Loki nods, because it actually _is_ amazing, "they told me about this. The trail, I mean, and the waterfall.” “I guess they came here every year around now. For years he’s pushed her out here in one of those dune-buggy-styled wheelchairs, I guess. Right up until this year when she was just too sick to make it." She pulls out her phone and brandishes it under Loki’s nose. "She wants me to take a picture for them."

It's the little thoughtful things like this, Loki's pretty sure, that make Sif such a well-loved leader. He stands patiently by while she takes a long sequence of shots, and then reaches for the phone. "Here, let me get a couple with you in them. I bet they'd like that, too."

She makes the obligatory self-depreciating noises but lets him get three good pictures just the same. He flips through them; the one of her looking up into the trees is by far the best one. "Here, your turn," she suggests when Loki passes her phone back to her afterwards.

He laughs and ducks. "They don't even _know_ me," he protests, hiding behind his own hands.

"Not for them, silly," she explains. "For you. For Thor, if you want. This is the perfect setting for you. Seriously. There,” she directs, gesturing with her head. “Look at the water."

He does. He even turns (and doesn't make a horrible face) when she asks him to look back at her instead.

"Here you go," she tells him as she texts the pictures to his phone. She's right. He’s all soft and peaceful and- and the way he might always look if he wasn't crazy. "See?” She shrugs. “What did I tell you? You should come here whenever you can. Make Thor bring you, you know? This place suits you."

He looks around. It does.

~

Picture duty suitably discharged, the two of them walk – carefully – a little farther along the slick stone trail. The next so-called _overlook_ is really more of an _underlook_. It's a low wood-and-metal bridge slung just above the creek, sitting right at the edge of the eroded bowl into which the falling water tumbles.

Without even stopping to discuss it they both flop unceremoniously down on the bridge decking, hurriedly remove their hiking shoes and wooly socks, and shove their over-warm (and, at least in Loki’s case, a little blistered; he’s not telling. Sif will hover, and neither of them needs that) feet into the cool water.

There is no breeze down here in the bottom of the small gorge, but it’s fine; it’s really not uncomfortably hot in the shade anyway. Besides, they're in the spray zone. It's wet; it’s messy.

Loki doesn't care. Thor will be gone well into the evening; he’s attending a work dinner and won’t be home (meaning he isn't expecting them, aka _he won’t notice they’re missing_ ) until quite late. They’ll have plenty of time to dry by then.

So he’s a little – a lot – soggy. So what? It’s not like he’s going to melt. He’s for sure been wetter. And from Sif's happy expression, she's fine with the whole sodden arrangement too.

~

After a while, though – a long, peaceful interlude during which they sit in companionable silence with their foreheads against the bridge railing, watching the water rushing by beneath them - Loki realizes he’s actually starting to get a bit cold. He shifts uncomfortably. "Oh, man," he groans, bracing himself on his good hand and twisting to peer at his backside. "My pants are fucking soaked."

"Mine, too," Sif agrees, pulling one foot up and feeling the back of her thigh. She rakes her wet hair out of her face, then reaches over and tucks a dripping chunk of his behind his ear. "Looks like we're finding a place we can eat outside."

"With metal chairs," Loki agrees. “Mesh ones. And fans.” He sighs. "I suppose we should head back." If they dawdle much longer they’ll cut it too close and be out here in early twilight. Which – even he knows this much, and he’s no hiker – is never a smart thing to do without gear. Stuff. Provisions.

Plus, he kind of has to pee. He’d whip his (damp, shriveled) dick out in front of Thor no problem but, with Sif here, he’s at least trying to be marginally classy.

The two of them pick up their shoes and pad out of the wet zone together with their feet still bare.

"Don't tell Thor," they stage-whisper simultaneously, in B-movie stereo. After that it's hard to stop laughing. Which poses kind of a problem, because Loki really _does_ have to pee.

He makes it most of the way back to Sif’s car before giving up and ducking behind a big, concealing tree.

~

They choose a popular vegan place. Its sidewalk café tables are busy but not unmanageably so. It’s a nice evening, for sure; Loki and Sif don’t really mind waiting anyway. That, and it gives them a chance to air-dry a little longer. Back at the trailhead they’d towel-dried their hair with a handful of rags out of Sif’s trunk and then sat on more of the same for the ride back into town; the two of them are both - Loki, especially - looking pretty frizzy and disheveled. The restaurant is a casual enough place, though; no one really seems to care. In fact, no one notices them at all, and that’s okay.

~

“You have to try this! It’s delicious.” Sif offers him a small section of delicately-battered onion. “How are things at the new place,” she asks, and then smiles. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead, chew.”

“Not bad,” Loki tells her around the last of the onion. “They’ve just switched me to a new therapist. She’s good. I like her.”

Sif looks at him over a big forkful of salad. “You didn’t like the first one?”

“No no no,” he backpedals. “I did like her. She’s nice. I just felt less like she was my therapist and more like she was my _mom_. Not my actual mom; someone’s mom. Oh, fuck it, you know what I mean.”

She nods. “You didn’t feel comfortable talking with her openly because: mom. I get it.”

“Pretty much. But my new person isn’t that way at all.”

“Mm,” Sif nods, chewing her way through that big bite of lettuce. She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “What’s this new person like, then?”

Loki thinks a moment. “She’s- she’s like me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, in therapy, the best you can do is showcase how your head is such a jumbled mess.

Loki looks at the floor. Actually, he looks at his foot, where he's slowly scuffing it around on the toes of his other foot. On, yes, the floor. It all amounts to the same thing. "No," he tells Dr. Riley at last. "I can't. It just doesn't feel right."

"He's gone from the program either way, you know," she reminds him. "We try to be reasonable about the rules here, and to provide everyone a certain amount of leeway, but some people just aren't cut out to succeed in this setting."

He looks up, jaw tight. "Oh, bullshit," he snaps. "Don't give me that. You - the greater you," he clarifies, viciously scooping a big semicircle out of the air between them, "I mean, not you personally - kicked him out because I ran my mouth." He isn't even trying to keep his disgust (at himself) out of his voice. "I ratted. I tattled. I narc'd."

"Loki." Something in her tone makes him stop and look at her. "You're right,” she tells him. “Sometimes being a responsible adult sucks. But it's not your fault he's no longer able to participate here."

He bares his teeth and steps back. "Oh, what, there are _cameras_ in the bathrooms? That fucking figures."

She stands, gracefully and with no wasted motion. She's not as tall as he is, but her loose power stance is intimidating and he can feel himself shrinking. "No," she says calmly, "there aren't. But tell me... what, besides you _keeping quiet_ might have prevented all this?"

_Ginny keeping her big mouth shut? You guys not fucking overreacting?_ He knows that can't be what she's looking for, but nothing else comes to mind. "I dunno," he tells her unhappily. "It all seems to come down to me."

"How about this, then," she suggests. "He could have left you alone. He could have kept his unsolicited thoughts on your sexual preferences to himself. Most of all, he could have kept his distance."

Loki shakes his head. His eyes are starting to fill, out of frustration and something else he can't quite put a finger on. "Still, if I hadn't..."

"He made a choice," she says. "He chose to act a certain way, which is his privilege. And actions come with consequences."

That he can relate to. "Like me choosing to use," he offers. One big tear spills down his cheek and along his jawline. It tickles. He doesn’t wipe it away.

"Potentially," Dr. Riley acquiesces. "Sit?"

Loki does, wincing a little as he catches too much of his weight on his right hand and grinds cast against knuckles. The fucking thing _so_ can't come off soon enough. He would _chew_ it off if he thought he had any hope of succeeding.

"It isn't your fault Rick made the choices he did, or that his choices got him in trouble," she points out. "I know that doesn't ring true for you, but I'll keep saying it until it does."

Nothing in her words or delivery is particularly upsetting, but more and more tears spill and Loki isn’t able to stifle a wet, gulping sob. "But he lost a good chance at recovery because of me." He laughs through the tears, bitter and sharp. "Jesus fuck, look at me. I don't even _like_ the asshole and here I am weeping over the mess I made him make of things." He scrubs at his face with both hands and then keeps them there. "I'm so fucking hopeless."

"Name two people who love you," Dr. Riley says, instead of acknowledging Loki’s mini-diatribe. "First answer."

The question startles him. "Thor," he says immediately, without giving himself time to overthink it. Well, much. "And my friend Sif.” He makes a derisive little noise somewhere between the back of his throat and his nose. “Thor and Sif love me. At least, they think they do."

"You don't believe them," she says. It’s probably closer to a statement than a question.

"Oh, I _believe_ them,” he grumbles, “as far as it goes. They love what they see of me. Mostly. But they don't know the real me. I don't let people see the real me. Not them,” he adds, abruptly fiercely defensive. “Not you. Not anybody.”

_Fucking coddle me now and I will rip your fucking head off_ , he thinks, arms folded as tightly across his chest as he can manage given the stupid goddamned cast. “Not anybody,” he stresses. He doesn’t even know why he’s so _angry_.

“What do you think would happen if you let someone – someone safe – see the real you,” Dr. Riley asks. It isn’t what he expected, but it probably should be.

“They’d kill it,” he snarls.

It isn’t until he curls forward that he realizes his chest is heaving, to the point it hurts to breathe. He rolls the rest of the way down and in, so his forehead is resting on his own knees. “They _should_ kill it,” he says, voice muffled. “It’s a monster.”

“Mm,” she says. “That’s a hard way to feel, isn’t it?”

“Not like you would fucking know,” he tells his kneecaps, harshly. But that’s not fair; she’s shared enough of her history for him to realize she _does_ know. Another big sob escapes. “I’m s-sorry,” he stammers, back to crying. “I’m an asshole.”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I think you’re just a person in a lot of pain.”

~

“What are you feeling,” she asks when he reaches out at last, blindly, to grope for a handful of tissues.

“Awful,” he admits. “Really, really awful. Worthless. Shitty. Sad.”

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. “It’s okay-…”

“-to feel bad,” Loki finishes for her, twisting to wipe his face – not his nose; that’s gross… something _Thor_ would do – on his pants. “Not my first rodeo. And you know what? It may be _okay,_ but it sure as fuck isn’t pleasant.”

“It’s not,” she agrees. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come back to this another time; it wouldn’t make a good place to leave off today.”

He’s so tired. Drained. It’s like every bit of furious, hate-fueled energy leaked out of him along with all those tears. “Actually,” he tries to joke, “I’d just as soon come back to it _never_.” His pitiful attempt at humor falls completely flat; he sighs, loudly. “That’s fine.”

“Tell me something fun you did in the past two weeks. Big or small; whatever,” she goes on. “Anything you want to share; whatever comes to mind.”

Loki thinks for a second. “I went hiking with Sif. We hiked out to a little waterfall. I have a picture,” he adds, unfolding just enough to dig for his phone. As he unlocks it, though, he sees the time. _Shit_. They’re way over. “Crap, sorry, we’re late. Another time.” He starts to stand, awkwardly, trying not to really look at her; he’s a wet, snotty mess and no one needs to be subjected to that. Not even when someone who’s getting paid to put up with it.

Dr. Riley gets to her feet as well. “It will only take a minute or two,” she disagrees, gently. “Let’s see. Ohhh, nice,” she says as he turns the phone. “That does look like fun. You’ll have to tell me how to find it.”

He manages a wan little smile. “It was. And I will; I’ll get directions from Sif. Thanks,” he acknowledges, because he does know what this last bit is about. “I’m okay now. Really. See you tomorrow?”

She nods. “But if you need anything before then-…”

“-just text.” Loki waggles his phone. “I will.”

He means it, too.

That much is easy, because he’s confident he _won’t ___need anything. Because, you know, he never does.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couples therapy actually has them _talking_.

"Was any of it fun, ever?" Thor's thumb rubs lightly across Loki's knuckles. "I mean, listening to you talk about it in front of- of Ginny, I end up feeling so sad. For you, I mean." He tugs Loki's hand up and kisses it gently. His stubbled chin catches the skin; Loki shivers. "It all sounds unimaginably horrible. I guess-... never mind."

"Tell me," Loki says, just above a whisper. "What were you going to say?"

Thor shrugs. "I was going to say I- I don't know how you managed to live through it, but I- I-..." He clears his throat and stops walking.

Loki lets his brother swing him around, then leans in and kisses Thor's hand in turn. He very much wants to trace the dips and rises of his brother's big knuckles with his tongue, but Thor will yelp and jump away and then they'll _both_ feel awful. "Don't worry, baby," he reassures his brother. "Talking about this stuff doesn't make me want to hurt myself. It's in my head all the time, you know?" Sharing it actually feels kind of nice. He likes it that Thor cares. "And, yes; sure, sometimes things were fun. Good, even."

~

They've just come from what Loki calls, in his own head, _The Loki Chronicles_. Basically, Ginny'd managed to discover early on that the two of them - the Hopelessly-Enmeshed And Incestuous Brothers Odinson - hadn't ever really talked about _the bad old days_ , that meaning the time between Thor's departing for college and his sweeping back in to rape and pillage like countless generations of conquerors before him. And just as soon as she'd figured this bit out, she'd given them - Loki, specifically; Thor's job has really only been to sit and listen and try not to melt down – the job of correcting it.

Thus, for weeks now he has been talking on and on about what it had been like to be - suicidal, angry, high, criminal, trick-turning, battered, not-a-single-fuck-giving - Loki. All of which is actually going better than he would have predicted; his brother has been surprisingly attentive and interested and supportive, session after session. There hasn’t been any arguing to speak of. That, and Thor cuts him breaks he would never have afforded himself.

Today's episode of Big And Dramatic Monologue was all about working for Malekith in the post-jail, post-shooting era. Loki had snuck sidelong peeks at Thor throughout; this is dangerous territory, fraught with jealousy and misunderstandings, and he'd been on constant guard lest his brother suddenly explode. All that had ended up happening, though, was simply this: Thor had looked more and more upset. Sad upset, too; not furious upset.

And since they left Ginny's office and headed out for a stroll, all his brother has done is- is worry, really.

~

"I know your personal experience with Algrim fell somewhere short of awesome," he admits to Thor, smiling as his brother huffs. "But he wasn't a bad boss, really. Not for the line of work, at least. He took pretty good care of us. Kept us safe from people who weren't there for the right reasons. And he can be pretty funny."

"The right reasons," Thor echoes, stuck somewhere before the bit about Algrim's sense of humor. "What exactly constitutes _not the right reasons_ to- er- patronize a prostitute?"

Loki laughs, not loudly. "So formal. What I meant was that he didn't put up with people roughing us up, especially out on the street. Or people who were just there to punish us, out of their own prejudices. You know," he goes on when it's obvious Thor _doesn't_ know, "like people who just want to kick the shit out of some defenseless fag or tranny."

His brother frowns. "Why would someone do that to you?"

At that he can't help but laugh harder, not to mention less politely. "Seriously, Thor? You worked in the DA's office and you have to ask me that? Or, fuck that; look at Odin.”

Thor makes a visible effort not to say- something. “Well, I’m glad he was good to you, then,” he volunteers instead.

“No you’re not,” Loki shoots back. “Please. You’re probably jealous. Of him, I mean. He spent a whole lot of time seeing me naked."

His brother shrugs. “Maybe. But right now I’m just- it’s good to know someone was looking out for you. When I- when I didn’t.”

For once mutual self-flagellation isn’t really what he’s in the mood for. “Oh, hush,” Loki says. “It’s fine. It’s over. I’m hungry.” Which, truthfully, he is; he’d been pretty late to lunch, to the point it had been a tight scramble to get himself fed _and_ make it to DBT lecture in time to avoid making a Grand And Embarrassing Entrance, and yogurt and a banana didn’t do nearly enough to tide him over. “Let’s not beat this to death,” he adds, giving Thor’s hand a pull. “Italian?”

~

“Gnocchi,” he tells the waitress. “And my date will have the linguini with clam sauce.” He winks at Thor. “The house dressing for both of us. No, thanks,” he tells her sweetly when she offers an appetizer; the portions here are huge and the food is so good they never seem to manage to stop and _take the rest to go_.

“What if I didn’t _want_ clam sauce,” Thor grumbles after she leaves. His eyes crinkle, though, like he’s not far from grinning.

“I’m trying new things,” Loki teases. “Such as ordering for my date like your garden variety over-possessive creeper. Well, that, and you _love_ the clam sauce. I don’t think you’ve ever ordered anything else here.” It’s true; his brother never has.

Thor shrugs. And smiles, with his whole face this time. “It’s nice to be able to get out like this, like any-old-body. I’m still not used to it.”

Loki nods. He’s not used to it either, to having the freedom to go out with his brother like they’re _just a couple_. And it _is_ nice. He leans across the table to plant a warm, lingering kiss on Thor’s mouth.

“I’m glad we moved,” his brother offers when they pull apart. “Are you?”

He thinks for a moment, like he would in therapy, and Thor’s brows pull together in a little frown. “I am,” Loki says, decisively. “It hasn’t been easy, but I am glad… and I really do like it here.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fly free...

On the way to the orthopedic office Loki is a fidgety mess. All he’s wanted for weeks and weeks now – pretty much from the second he got the stupid thing _on_ , really – is to get this cast off. Now that the time has finally come, though, he’s ridiculously nervous. Which makes no sense; it’s not like this is brain surgery, seriously, and the fiberglass is just going to be cut free… which is _wooooo scary_ for someone who has a longstanding habit of getting way too friendly with most any sharp object that couldn’t outrun him. Still, there you have it: He’s so nervous he’s shaking.

~

“Are you okay,” Thor asks as they walk in from the parking lot. “You seem really-.”

“Just don’t,” Loki snaps, even though none of this is his brother’s fault. He makes himself pull in a deep breath through his nose. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong,” he pretty much doesn’t explain. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Thor says, still amiable enough. He hooks an arm around Loki’s shoulders. “I’m here, baby. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

_Yeah yeah yeah,_ Loki says, except it’s inside-voice-only.

~

“Right this way, Mr. Odinson,” the perky girl – she doesn’t even look old enough to be finished with high school, let alone to have gotten any sort of medical training, and Loki feels abruptly ancient – in the bright blue scrubs tells him. “And this is your-?”

“Partner,” he finishes, before Thor can jump in with an answer. “You know; we-.”

“She _knows_ ,” Thor says a little too loudly. The girl looks from one to the other of them, a little puzzled; Loki winks.

She blushes. Win.

~

Right from the start he can tell this entire visit is going to be a grade-A disaster. The orthopedic doctor himself is working with another patient, and the kid who saunters in with the cast cutter looks hardly any older than Scrubs Girl. It turns out he’s an orthopedic resident, according to both his name badge and his long, animated self-introduction. So, yes, a doctor as well… but barely. Loki can’t help but wonder when they started admitting sixth-graders into med school.

He briefly considers asking but decides that’s a better conversation to have _after_ his hand is free.

~

“I know this thing looks scary,” the resident says of the cast saw, missing the part where Loki pulls an exaggerated eyeroll, “but it’s actually not dangerous. See?” He starts the saw; it’s got that sort of whine that makes your teeth ache and Loki just wants this _done_. When the resident touches the running saw to his own hand, in what’s probably supposed to be an effort to help calm scared patients, Loki is actually a little disappointed not to see blood.

“I’m fine,” he assures them, even though no one has asked recently. “Really. I am.” He’s gotten himself back under control; being annoyed with the staff seems to have helped nicely with the nerves and the shaking. “Listen; I trust you not to amputate my arm. I do. Now can we _please_ get on with it?

His brother comes up behind him, from the other side of the exam table. Thor puts a comforting hand – and it actually _is_ comforting, except Loki’s not in anywhere near the right headspace to admit it – on his back, centered between the shoulder blades.

He does his best to tune out the saw, to just focus on the warmth of his brother’s hand where it’s seeping straight into his spine.

It doesn’t work, really.

~

The whole exercise proceeds with painful slowness. Loki knows he’s being whiny and childish, inquiring “how long is this going to take,” over and over and over like he’s asking _are we there yet_ , but he can’t seem to make himself stop doing it. “That sound is fucking killing me,” he finally points out, which is probably totally unnecessary; the noise has got to be killing everyone within earshot.

Not that Loki ever, ever wanted to be a doctor but he wouldn’t last a day using that awful-sounding thing to do this to people.

“Language, Loki,” his brother admonishes the very instant he f-bombs. Thor catches himself and quickly rubs a gentle little circle into Loki’s back, adding “I’m sorry,” before Loki even has time to fire back. “I don’t mean to be a jerk,” he assures. “Honest.”

Normally Loki would get in a good dig of his own in response to something like that, regardless of how _sorry_ his brother might be, but he Just. Can’t. Not when he’s practically tuning alien radio signals in through his fillings.

~

At long, long, deafening last, the baby doctor finally peels the cast’s remains away.

Not the least bit atypically, the very second it’s gone Loki wants it right the fuck back. His arm looks like something that crawled out of the sewers… and somehow manages to smell even worse. Not to mention how it’s aching like hell.

“Gross,” he exclaims, looking at the pruney, peeling, wax-white thing that used to be his right wrist. He turns up his nose at it. “It stinks,” he tells them unhappily, “and it hurts, too.” Loki experimentally twists – well, attempts to twist – his scrawny arm back and forth; it hurts so bad he almost screams. “Fuck,” he huffs out, dizzy and nauseated. “Is it supposed to feel _worse_ now than it did originally?”

The resident takes Loki’s forearm in one hand and his palm in the other and inspects his poor sad wrist, manipulating it slowly and smoothly. It all hurts terribly; he has to grit his teeth and pant through his nose. The room spins.

About the time he’s seriously considering trying to wish himself dead it all stops; the doctor gently sets his hand back in his lap and turns to study the xrays. “It looks good, actually,” the resident tells him, “and you have good range of motion. Unfortunately, it’s going to hurt until it’s fully healed.”

“Awesome,” Loki grumbles, wiping the cold sweat from his face with his other wrist. The one that actually looks like a wrist, not to mention works like one. It’s over. He just needs to go home, lie down, and sleep for a million years.

~

But then things actually get worse instead of better. “Do you need a prescription for it,” the resident asks. “For the pain, I mean,” he explains, completely oblivious to the way Loki’s trying desperately to glare him to death. “I can write you something.”

Loki feels his brother’s hand tense on his back. “Silly me,” he says nastily, “I would have expected basic literacy to be a necessity when it came to Medical School graduation.” He needs to tattoo this shit – his whole fucking druggie history - on his chest, in big block letters.

The resident gives them both a confused look that’s so dumb it must be genuine. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Can you _read_ ,” Loki asks. He squares his shoulders, shrugging Thor’s hand off, and then carefully touches his wrist. The sharp newness of the pain is fading; he folds his arms across his chest and pretends like crazy doing so isn’t fucking killing him. “Can. You-,” he says again, enunciating very, very clearly. Obnoxiously clearly, but he’s not the least bit sorry. Because: _read the chart!_ Isn’t that pretty basic? He shouldn’t be having to shoulder all of this on his own, should he?

“Yes, of course,” the resident says, sharply. His composure is finally starting to wear down. It’s about fucking time.

Loki smells blood. “Then here’s a radical idea,” he growls. “Read. My. Chart.” He gives the doctor his best toothy non-smile. “And then offer me something that’s actually fucking useful.”

~

Any other day it would almost be funny, watching the color drain out of the resident’s face and he flips through Loki’s paperwork.

Today, Loki’s done. Worn completely out. He just wants to go home.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says at last, looking about as pained as Loki feels. “I didn’t mean-.”

“Yeah, okay.” Loki sighs. He’s so, so tired. “Just give me whatever I need, as long as it _isn’t_ fucking drugs, and let me out of here.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes absence doesn't make the heart grow fonder.

They’re barely in the door – Thor’s only just thrown his keys down on the counter, and Loki hasn’t even had time to walk across the kitchen and grab himself a soda – when his brother cuts right (back) to the chase.

"What happened," Thor asks, looking him straight in the eye.

"With Odin?" Loki feels a chill run down his spine and shudders. He twists away, so his brother can’t read his expression. "I thought I made it reasonably clear I didn't want to talk about it," he complains flatly. Normally he blocks all of this out… hides from it; keeps it safely locked away in one of the dark corners inside his head where nothing dares to go.

Himself included. There is some ugly, ugly stuff in that particular corner.

It really should stay there.

Thor sighs. "You did,” he agrees. “It's just- well, if he hurt you, you shouldn't have to carry that alone." While Loki is still bracing himself to say something, anything, his brother continues: "And I should probably have at least some basic idea what went on, in case he _does_ show up here, you know?"

Ugh. That’s actually reasonable logic, the kind it’s dangerously hard to outmaneuver.

Loki feels sick. He rests both palms on the cool counter, carefully not putting too much weight on his right hand. The stupid thing looks a lot less like some sort of alien than it did back when the cast first came off, but his wrist is nowhere near back to normal. In fact, he’s starting to feel like it may never be.

It takes him a long time to put together a response, and then still more to find his voice. "Why didn't you come for me,” he finally asks his brother, “after I got out of the nuthouse?" His chest is tight. Even as he asks he isn’t at all sure he wants to know.

“Why,” Thor parrots. He sounds uncomfortable now too, and a little hostile. "I didn't know where you were," he starts in. Which is a giant _bad excuse_ , at best, because no one else seemed to have any trouble in that department. "And I was angry," he admits, which is more like it. "Angry that you went and tried to kill yourself without even asking me for help first. Without even dropping a hint. Without even _talking_ to me." His voice wavers on _talking_.

Despite that, Thor _still_ sounds something dangerously close to angry. After all this time, and enough so that Loki can’t help but be afraid.

"I was worried about you,” Thor continues, tone at odds with his choice of words, “and I- I would have done everything in my power to find a way to help you. But no, you were- you were so fucking selfish,” he growls.

Thor is- he’s too close and too threatening, even from behind; Loki can’t help but cringe away. Everything bubbling up out of the dark corners is ugly and raw.

“I'm sorry," his brother backpedals. "I didn't mean to yell. I just- I was so afraid I'd lost you, and then it turned out you _wanted_ to go. You wanted to leave me."

Thor is laughably far off the truth, but Loki isn’t feeling much like laughing.

"No," he says, then clears his throat. He really doesn’t know how to effectively explain this. Not to someone who so, so clearly has never _been there._. "I wanted to stop the pain,” he says tonelessly; he has to lean forward a little more, until his wrist really starts to ache, to stop his hands from visibly shaking. “I suppose the nice thing to say would be _I never wanted to leave you_ ,” he goes on, talking to the counter in front of him, “but to be honest by that point I’m pretty sure you weren't even on my radar."

No one was. In fact, by then, the radar screen itself lay smashed to bits at the bottom of some rocky cliff at the edge of the world.

It is entirely the wrong thing to say, apparently. "When I came to see you, you acted like you hated me," Thor rumbles. Loki leans onto his own hands even harder.

"Preemptive strike," he says, wanting more than anything to flee but trying to act flip. Unaffected.

It’s way too much multitasking, all this talking and clinging to his fraying mental rope; hard as he’s trying, Loki eventually slips: "After what Odin had sa-," he starts in without thinking. _Goddammit_. "Fuck, Thor." He curls forward, grabbing the edge of the counter hard and ignoring the burning flare of pain. “I said-… _Fuck_.” He can’t. He just can’t. Where this road leads, there is simply too much awfulness to handle. If he lets the rope out any more he may fall.

"What," his brother demands, oblivious. "What did he tell you?"

_Falling, falling._ "He told me you knew about me - about how I was _a filthy worthless cock-sucking faggot_ ,” Loki explains, “Which, of course, you did.” He laughs. Everything is sharp and brittle. "And all that jazz - and- he-," his voice cracks again and for a minute he simply can’t go on. The kitchen knives are just out of reach; one fast move and…. "He told me you wished I had done a better job of it. That you said I deserved to die."

" _WHAT?!_ ", Thor cries out. "No! And he never even talked to me anyway. Except once or twice to nag me to see you. Wait," he says, and Loki stiffens again. "How did he know you were gay? God, Loki, did I get you in trouble?"

It isn’t until he loses the use of his nose and has to snuff back a whole ton of snot that Loki even realizes he’s crying. The world seems so far away, the knives seem so close. He closes his eyes, feeling the tears squeeze out. "No,” he corrects his brother, “I got myself in trouble. Right after you left for school, I got sloppy.” He remembers it surprisingly well, considering the shape he was in at the time. “I wasn't holding it together too well by then, I suppose," he says, which is a giant understatement. "He caught me jerking off to that one porno, the one that-."

"-looked like you and me," Thor agrees quietly. Reverently. "I remember… ugh. What did he do?"

"It was in the den,” Loki offers. He can remember this part with awful clarity; the leather chairs, Odin’s PC with its big monitor. “You had your computer at school with you. I didn't hear him come home." He swallows more snot and fights not to gag.

Odin hadn’t made a sound until he was _right the fuck there_ , by which time it was far too late to escape him.

"He yanked me out of the chair by my ankle," Loki tells Thor. "I hit my head on the desk - I remember the blood running into my eye.” It’s close to the last thing he remembers clearly… not nearly close enough, though. “My mouth,” he adds, “and then he kicked me in the side so hard he cracked a bunch of my ribs."

“ _Fuck_ , Thor whispers.

"I don't remember all the details after that," Loki says, back still to his brother and tears dripping onto the counter between his fingers. It’s not a lie; he’s lost a great deal of it. Even so, he remembers far too much. "But he said a lot of horrible things to me. Basically it all amounted to the same thing: that I was a blight on society and I should do everyone a favor and end it. End myself.” He takes a big, shaky breath. “Of course, I was already thinking along those lines anyway."

"Holy shit, Loki,” his brother exclaims in a tight little voice. "Didn't mom-?"

"All the yelling woke her up,” Loki says. He has a fractured memory of her horrified face hovering just above his. “Odin told her I'd gotten in a fight. Something like that, I think. I don't remember much of what happened from then on; only how I woke up in the morning in the hospital.” He snuffs. Waking up that day alone, with Odin, was worse than most anything else; he’s not sure he’s ever felt more abandoned, before or since. "Mom was somewhere else. I asked for you. Odin told me you’d refused to come." Loki can still hear it inside his head. If he could just have closed his eyes and died right then, he would have.

“What,” Thor says, loudly enough that Loki jumps. “No. I never- he never- they never told me,” he stammers. “They never- I don’t think they even called me. I might have spoken to mom once between when they drove me to school and when- when-.”

“-when I did society a favor,” Loki finishes for him.

Thor lays a warm, surprisingly gentle hand on his back, over his ribs. Over the scar, the one from when-....

Loki pushes off the counter and spins around, pressing himself against his brother’s comfortingly solid body.

“Shh,” Thor soothes, wrapping one arm around him and holding on tight. “Shh,” his brother says again, petting up and down Loki’s back slowly, carefully.

It just makes him cry all the harder.

~

After several minutes, Thor coughs quietly. “I never wanted you dead, brother,” he assures Loki. “Never. I hope you believe me.”

Loki laughs. He feels like he’s swimming up from somewhere far, far below. The water is thick and gelatinous. “Odin would say I made all this up,” he grits out. “To play you. To take advantage of your caring nature.” He isn’t, though. Didn’t, isn’t, isn’t. This isn’t a game.

He’s abruptly glad the knife block is out of sight and out of range.

“I’m dead certain I’ve never given less of a shit what Odin would say,” his brother tells him, nuzzling into Loki’s neck. “I believe you. And it makes me sick that you had to go through all this alone.”

“I’m not alone now,” Loki mouths into the curve of Thor’s shoulder.

“No, baby,” his brother stresses, “that you’re not. I’m here.”


End file.
